


it's all i want, it's all i'm dreaming

by foreground



Category: Interpol
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Awkward Flirting, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Pining, awkward part time barista daniel, kind of an asshole co-worker carlos, longsuffering boss sam, starving artist paul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-26 03:40:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4988845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreground/pseuds/foreground
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shy part-time barista Daniel falls for starving artist regular Paul,</p>
<p>or</p>
<p>the coffee shop AU nobody wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's all i want, it's all i'm dreaming

His first day goes like, well, a first day. He’s given an apron, briefly taught the difference between the coffee blends arranged in a system he pretends to understand, and shoved behind the counter all in under thirty minutes. His boss is Sam, a man at least six years his senior whose bulldog-like disposition decidedly does not scream “manager of a tiny fair trade coffee house in Brooklyn.” Currently, he’s lecturing Daniel on how to work their ancient cash register, one that must be older than the shop itself but is probably kept around for the aesthetic. Or whatever.

“-then you pull on this lever to- Daniel, are you listening to me?”

“What? Er, yeah.”

Sam sighs.

“As I was saying, you pull on this l-”

The lecture is interrupted by the bell on the door. A tall, skinny shadow of a man trails in, eyes never leaving the book tucked into his hand. His dirty blond hair is covered by a black beanie, his face is dotted with freckles and what might be paint, and he’s walking straight up to Daniel.

Daniel stands there with his mouth open for a good ten seconds before Sam nudges him.

“Ask him what he wants,” he hisses under his breath. Daniel swallows.

“Uh, hi,” he manages.

“The usual,” Beanie says automatically. He still hasn’t looked up.

The what? Daniel mouths at Sam, who just shrugs.

“Sorry, um, what’s your… what’s your usual?”

“I’ve been coming to this place for years now, how do you not-” Beanie finally puts his book down and Christ, his eyes are so piercingly blue it’s unsettling and alluring at the same time. “Oh. Sorry.”

“I-It’s just that- It’s my first day,” Daniel rushes to explain.

“Right. Yeah.” Beanie pushes his glasses up. “House blend, black, medium, two sugars.”

“And your name?”

“Paul.”

Daniel scribbles it on the side of the cup and passes it off to Sam, praying this guy didn’t spell “Paul” some weird hippie way.

“Four… uh, four thirty,” Daniel says after a few confused taps at the register.

Paul slides a five across the counter, seemingly engrossed in his book again. 

“Keep the change.”

As he struggles to find the button that will open the drawer, Daniel thinks he sees Paul looking at him a little, but he’s too frustrated to give it much thought.

“The lever.”

“What?”

“Pull the lever. It opens the register,” Paul explains slowly, smile playing on his lips.

Hesitantly, Daniel does, and sure enough, the register springs open with an irritating ping! Of fucking course. Daniel might as well hand in his apron and quit right there. He stuffs the bill in, feeling the heat rush into his cheeks. Sam, the savior he is, hands Paul his coffee before things can get any more awkward.

“Thanks,” he says to Sam, then turns back to Daniel. “See you around, then.”

“Have a good day,” Daniel responds dumbly, and then Paul is out the door, punctuated by the sound of the bell again.

Daniel exhales loudly and presses the heels of his palms against his eyes hard enough that he sees spots. When he opens them again, Sam is staring at him incredulously.

“… What?” His vocabulary had evidently become that one word.

“You were _so_ -” Sam shakes his head in disbelief. “Never mind. Wait here.”

He disappears into the back room for a minute, re-emerging with a tag that has DANIEL written on it in obnoxiously large letters. He pins it to Daniel’s apron, smiles, then goes off to clean the counters. Daniel can only stare at it before resigning himself to banging his head against the register.

 

Daniel starts to figure some things out over the next few weeks. One, don’t piss Sam off. Two, don’t piss Sam off. Three, Paul Banks comes in every day at 2:15, and sits at the table by the window until 3:15 on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. Four, _never_ tell Carlos anything.

“So… Paul, huh?” Carlos says one afternoon during their lunch break. “You know, he was in a few of my English classes in college. Never guessed he’d be your type.”

“My _t_ \- okay, I don’t know where you got that from, but I don’t have a crush on him or anything.” The words sound pathetic the second they leave his mouth. Carlos snorts.

“Says the kid who nearly had a coronary when he said your name last week.”

That did happen. Turns out that Sam had a point with the name tag; Paul took his coffee and said “thanks, Daniel, see you around,” making Daniel immediately run for the storage closet the second Paul left and squeal into his hands like some smitten schoolgirl. Unfortunately, Carlos had just so happened to be taking a smoke break in there too, forcing an awkward explanation out of Daniel.  
“Look, I can tell you like him, all right?” Carlos continues. “He’s been getting coffee from this place for at least the past five or six years; I know some stuff about him. You want me to tell you?”

Daniel nods, defeated.

“All right, well, he graduated from NYU the same time I did. English and comparative lit, I think. Grew up in Spain and Mexico before coming here. He’s one of those weirdo starving artists now; he probably paints from the look of it. And,” he adds, grinning, “he’s definitely into guys.”

The last part makes Daniel choke on nothing.

“How… Has he told you?” he practically splutters.

“Nah, not outright. But I can tell. It’s _New York_ , Dan, everyone’s gay. Trust me.”

Ordinarily, Carlos Dengler would be the last person Daniel would trust. Instead, he just nods.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Just- do me a favor and actually talk to him the next time he comes in, okay? It gets pretty embarrassing watching you flail.”

“I do _not_ flail-“

“Yeah, you do,” Carlos laughs before putting out his cigarette and going back inside.

 

“The usual?” Daniel asks with a smile.

He’s been working there for close to four months. The cash register has been (mostly) conquered, he can tell the difference between Blue Mountain and Colombian coffee beans now (“How could you mix those _up_ , Daniel?” Sam had shouted at him after one particularly stressful shift), and the customers are always sweet to him. Even so, his heart still stutters whenever he spots a familiar mop of dirty blond hair at the door. It all feels a bit Pavlovian: Daniel will wonder why his pulse is so fast all of a sudden, then glance at the clock and oh, it’s 2:10, Paul will be coming through the door in five minutes. He definitely knows Daniel’s name now, even smiles at him when they make eye contact, which never fails to get Daniel blushing like mad.

“Uh, no, actually. Surprise me,” Paul says.

Daniel thinks he hears Carlos wheeze in shock from the other end of the bar. Six years of house blend, black, medium, two sugars and now he changes it? The memory of every other kind of coffee they serve leaves Daniel’s head at that very moment.

“Oh. Well, um, would a… latte be fine with you?” Paul’s a goddamn hipster starving artist, Daniel, his brain shrieks at him, of course he doesn’t drink lattes! Lattes are representative of… capitalism and big government or something! What the hell are you th-

“Yeah, sure.”

Huh. How about that.

He takes one of their biodegradable cups, writes “Paul” on it as usual, and, before his better judgment can take over, draws a heart right next to his name and tosses it to Carlos without a second thought.

“So, do you, uh…” Paul runs a hand through his hair. He seems nervous for some reason. “What have you been up to?”

Daniel blinks. This is new.

“Work, class, mostly.”

“What do you study?”

“French and film.”

“Sounds fun.”

“It is.”

The awkwardness that follows is worsened by Carlos loudly turning on the grinder. Daniel hopes the noise is enough to mask his internal screaming. He’s rooting around in his head for something else to say, but Paul’s coffee is being slid across the counter before he can think of anything beyond “I’d really like it if you kissed me right now.”

“Thanks,” is all Paul says before going to sit at his usual table.

Daniel is in the middle of cursing himself when he realizes, oh shit, right, he fucking drew a heart on Paul’s cup. Shit, shit, _shit_.

It takes him an agonizingly long time to notice it. Daniel mindlessly serves at least seven other customers before Paul slowly turns his cup around, stares at the heart for a full thirty seconds, stares at Carlos for five before shaking his head, and finally- staring right at him.

The look in his eyes is nearly indescribable. It’s one of surprise, mostly, but there’s a hint of what might be tenderness in it. He parts his lips as if to say something, then pulls his sketchpad from his satchel and starts drawing hastily.  
As the minutes pass, Daniel tries not to be disappointed that Paul didn’t immediately get up, vault the counter, and kiss him passionately in front of everyone. At least, he justifies to himself, Paul wasn’t disgusted or anything. Maybe Paul didn’t like him back, which was fine. Maybe it was just a stupid little crush that would go away in a month or two.

What Daniel doesn’t notice is Paul carefully tearing the page out, folding it up into quarters, handing it to Carlos with a few words, and briskly leaving without so much as a glance back. It’s Carlos’s sudden laugh that snaps him out of his reverie.

“Loverboy left you something, Dan,” he smirks, pushing the paper into his hands. Daniel fumbles with it, heart racing, opens it, smooths out the folds, and -  
It’s of _him_.

His curls are unruly as they usually are, some sticking to his face, the rest smoothed back in a gelled mess; his jawline peppered with the perpetual day’s worth of stubble; his eyelashes sweeping his cheeks - everything is there, everything is Daniel. Unmistakably. Paul saw the heart, drew him, and left it as a gift.

Daniel freaks out for a solid two hours before Sam manages to calm him down.

 

Paul doesn’t come in for a week after that.

It’s amazing how dull work becomes for Daniel when he isn’t there. The customers start looking identical after a certain point, his voice sounds flat and robotic, and even the sight of Carlos tripping and smacking his face on the side of the ice dispenser fails to get more than a halfhearted smile out of him.  
Occasionally a blonde will walk in and he’ll perk up, only to deflate again once he realizes it’s not Paul. The distant voice in the back of his head seems to think it’s his fault for screwing it up, of course he had to draw that stupid heart for that stupid boy and scare him away. Sam seems to understand, resting a hand on his shoulder at 2:15 every day and telling him he’ll take care of the register for now, why doesn’t Daniel just go and take his break early.

Today it’s a torrential downpour, the sky already ominously dark. Daniel’s working the closing shift for the first time, and some appointment for Sam means he’s the only one left in the shop. He’s dragged the last chair inside and is about to shut the door when a familiar shock of blond hair rounds the corner.  
Daniel stands there under the awning, watching the figure run closer and closer. There’s no way it could be-

“Paul?” he finds himself saying, and by the way he nearly collides with him, yes, it is.

“Sorry, the rain caught me, I-” Paul shakes his bangs out of his face, realizes who he’s talking to, and looks away awkwardly. “Hey, Dan.”

“Come in, then, you’re drenched,” Daniel says. He’s not sure when he started trembling. “You can, um- wait it out. With me. If you want to.”

Paul nods, and Daniel takes the gesture as his cue to head back inside. He tries not to stare as Paul pulls his jacket off, exposing surprisingly toned upper arms.

“There’s- I think there’s a towel in the back you can use, let me get it,” stutters Daniel hurriedly, and swears he feels part of himself die when Paul follows him without even asking. It’s almost pathetic.

Naturally, the towel just so happens to be in their tiny supply closet, crowding the both of them into the cramped space as Daniel nearly throws it at him. Paul runs it over his face, through his hair, and Daniel really can’t stop himself from staring this time. He’s even more attractive without the counter between them.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Daniel starts when Paul makes no movement to leave the closet.

“Yeah, uh… I was… busy.”

With what? Daniel nearly asks, then decides it would be rude.

“Listen, I’m sorry about the heart thing,” he blurts, all the color rushing to his face when Paul stares at him in surprise. “It was… I don’t know, I was being impulsive.”

Paul still doesn’t say anything, so he continues.

“Um, thank you for that drawing you made of me, though. It was really nice of you, and, uh, I do miss seeing you, like, here and stuff, so-”

“Daniel.”

“-I mean, you don’t have to come if you’re busy, but seeing you makes my day, and I know how weird that must s-”

“ _Daniel_.”

Paul has backed him against the door before he knows it, hands trapping his head on either side. He leans in close - he smells of acrylics and coffee and Camel Lights - and brushes his lips ever so slightly against the shell of Daniel’s ear.

“If you don’t want this,” he growls, “tell me. Now.”

Daniel can barely hear him, the blood is thrumming so loudly in his head. He manages to nod, fist his hands in the front of Paul’s shirt, and mumble something that might be “please.”

His lips are chapped, he’s still damp from the rain, and Daniel has to stand on his tiptoes to reach his mouth, yet kissing Paul is just as perfect as he expected it to be. His arms move to the small of Daniel’s back, holding him up and making him dizzy, as if he’s downed an entire bottle of red wine. The months and months of tension between them strips itself raw behind Daniel’s eyelids, and he has the strange urge to laugh; of _course_ he would be kissing Paul fucking Banks in a closet like he’s in some movie.

The feeling of Paul’s tongue sliding into his mouth derails Daniel’s thoughts again, and he’s suddenly aware of how embarrassingly hard he is. He’s about to pull back and apologize when Paul, who seems to have noticed it too, slots his hand between his thighs and oh my God-

“Little coffeehouse boy, hm?” Paul murmurs, the smirk in his voice nearly unbearable. “I thought so.”

“Fuck- Paul-” Daniel chokes out. His face must be cherry red at this point.

“What do you need, beautiful?”

“You, please, I just-”

“Shh.”

Paul’s lips are on his again, rougher than before, and Daniel moans against them when Paul begins to stroke him through his pants. He moves with it instinctively, earning a stifled chuckle from the other man. It’s infinitely more satisfying than his own hand, or the handful of times he’s done it with faceless classmates in the dark of his dorm room. It’s the mere idea of doing it with _Paul_ that’s bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he registers Paul’s own cock brushing against him, and he reaches for it hesitantly.

Paul inhales sharply when he does, breaking the kiss. Daniel musters up the nerve to look at him again and his eyes are shut, mouth forming inaudible words. Their simultaneous strokes speed up until Paul growls again, grabbing Daniel’s wrist and pinning it so they’re rutting against each other. Despite the layers of fabric between their bodies, it’s the most intense thing Daniel’s ever felt, heightened by the taller man squeezing his hip and biting his neck. He can’t do much but dig the nails of his free hand into Paul’s back, gasping and mewling and hoping he isn’t deafening Paul with the noises he’s making.

His orgasm comes far too soon, sending a near-electric pulse through his entire body. Paul kisses him through it, muffling his moans, and continues his movements until he, too, is coming with a soft grunt. Daniel practically collapses into him afterwards, burying his face in Paul’s collar as he tries to bring his breathing back to normal. He’s still trembling, this time from the aftershocks, but Paul’s hand gently releases his wrist and moves to his lower back, firm yet affectionate.

“I feel like we skipped a step,” Daniel mumbles after what feels like years.  
“Coffee, dinner- something-”

Paul laughs lowly, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“But this is pretty good too, isn’t it?”

The smile that spreads across Daniel’s face is almost enough to hurt his cheeks. He leans into the gesture, tipping his head back against the door and letting out a soft sigh.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> god
> 
> this is the first interpol fic i've written/published so thank you! honestly paul/daniel is such a good ship so i felt it needed some love
> 
> title is from "shine a light" by cults


End file.
